Potted Gardens

No matter the weather outside, there's always a springtime in my house. Between all the plants, my mis-matched chairs, and the little spots of color around the rooms, my little home and its small pleasures brighten my days. As you can see, there isn't much I wouldn't attempt to grow indoors, especially in winter as I long for spring.

My father's mother is much the same way. She once propogated her entire back lawn piece by piece, sod cutting by sod cutting from her front yard. She giggled as she described it to me--I couldn't tell whether she did it because they could not afford grass seeds or if she just did it that way to see if it could be done. I could tell she was proud of her accomplishment. She would never describe herself as creative, and greatly admires creativity in other people. I wonder if she realizes that very few people would think to grow a lawn the way she grew hers.



My grandmother's second-story apartment is softly bright. Her walls are a pale blue, and the light streams in gloriously through her sun widow in the high ceiling. Various books and clippings that interest her litter the place, and she has a tiny little balcony off to one side (above). Although she has no space on the grounds to grow anything, you can see that she still has a garden, all in little rows of pots lining her porch. I understand her crop of tomatoes last summer was truly a wonder, and I am thankful for her constant reminders that with the right attitude, one can accomplish much in small spaces.